No time for mourning
by elitetrine
Summary: Knock Out had never been the most social since joining the Autobots, but sometimes even Ratchet worries. Predacons Rising spoilers, death mentioned.


There was no time to mourn in war. It was easier, far easier, to seek revenge, to fill each aching hole with a salve of morbid pleasure, to drink in the pain of the one who ruined _everything_.

But the ache could return at any moment. And it continues, on and on, the ache, the violence, until something changes.

The war ends.

The war ends, and suddenly the ache is back and there's nothing to stop it. It's not burning like it once did, merely a dull pain, as if something irreplaceable has been removed in the dull fog of anesthesia.

He was still assuredly proud and selfish after he switched sides, though more reserved, and a great deal of it was correctly assumed to be him adjusting to the shockingly different climate of Team Whatever-They-Were-Now.

He had spent much of his time with Ratchet, much to everyone's bemusement and the old medic's chagrin. He got along best with Bumblebee, certainly, but much of his arguing with his medic-in-arms fell under the category of friendly fire. Despite their differences (and their inability to admit it), they respected each other and their skills.

It was only a coincidence, however, that Ratchet had been the one to pound on Knock Out's door one specific day. The young medic had returned from a trip to the _Nemesis_ over a solar cycle prior and, after declaring that the trip had exhausted him, retired to his habsuite for what he insisted on calling "beauty sleep." Some of the Autobots had silently scoffed and others felt slightly sorry for the ex-Decepticon; as if it wasn't just an excuse to get away from them.

But the game had gone on long enough, Ratchet thought. Knock Out would have emerged long before if he didn't have energon stored in his suite, and in that case there was no telling when the newest Autobot would deign to greet the team again. It was time for Knock Out to stop slacking his duties- and no one dared voice the worry that he had reverted to how reclusive and withdrawn-how downright _cautious_ he had been around them for as long as it took them to construct the ramshackle base they currently resided in. Until he had some place all his own to retreat to.

There was no response when Ratchet knocked, and after a klik of shouting warnings that _Knock Out, I will break this door down if I have to_, the old bot finally did just that. (Well, not quite; he _did_minimize the damage as much as he can. The door wasn't so much broken down as melted into two halves by a blowtorch.)

A red body slumped unresponsively over a makeshift desk, servos draped elegantly over a small piece of dark metal. Ratchet drew a painful intake of air before drawing closer. Knock Out's chassis was colder than it should be, but not frigid; he seemed to have entered a voluntary stasis. It was... disconcerting that he had considered this option more preferable than simply leaving the room to get energon, Ratchet thought.

The white medic began to leave- he hadn't thought to bring energon with him- and stole one last worried glance back. It had pained all of Team Prime to see Knock Out so tentative after Optimus had passed, as if he thought that the rest of the team might send him away at the first mistake. If he reverted to that... or rather, what if he had never gotten past that?

Ratchet hated to admit it, but he worried for the mech.

Knock Out onlined in his habsuite with an IV of medical energon rolled to his side, servos still arching protectively over what had once been Breakdown's optic patch. Claws clicked against the desk as he flexed them experimentally. So, someone had come to find him.

"You're awake."

"Mm, yes," the field medic purred. Carefully unplugging the IV, he stood and stretched as if he had been awoken from light recharge rather than-well, whatever had happened. "Seems I didn't realize how low my fuel levels were. Apologies."

"What a load of scrap!" Ratchet nearly sputtered. "You knew full well what you were doing to yourself. _Why?_"

There it was again, for a fraction of a second: that awful look of genuine surprise that instantly melted into another well-composed facade. It didn't suit Knock Out. "No real reason. _Truly_sorry my alone time doesn't quite fit into your big buddy-buddy team framework."

"You were out for well over a solar cycle. After you got back the Nemesis with..." Ratchet's optics fell to the shard of metal now abandoned on the desk. It was quite obvious what it was now that it was no longer shielded from Knock Out's claws. _Oh_.

"Yes?" Knock Out asked disdainfully after Ratchet approached.

Ratchet took the young medic's shoulders in his servos, stared, ex-vented, and, _oh, here it comes_, Knock Out thought, _the so-disappointed-in-you-do-better-next-time speech-_

He hadn't expected a hug.

His body went stiff for one dreadful moment.

He hadn't expected himself to dim his optics and hug back, either.


End file.
